


Steady

by deciding



Series: Patterns and How They Change the Visible World [1]
Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: 2x05, 2x06, Angst, Bolivia - Freeform, Chile - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, International waters, Jeresa, Multi, Post-2x05, Season 2, Tension, post-2x06, subconscious thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27326740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deciding/pseuds/deciding
Summary: The first time Teresa kissed James it wasn’t even real. It was during a hallucination after El Santo fed her the poisonous beetle.But it felt real.
Relationships: Teresa Mendoza & James Valdez, Teresa Mendoza/James Valdez
Series: Patterns and How They Change the Visible World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016934
Comments: 13
Kudos: 45





	Steady

The first time Teresa kissed James it wasn’t even real. It was during a hallucination after El Santo fed her the poisonous beetle.

But it felt real.

Hours after jolting back to reality, Teresa could still feel James’ fingers in her hair, at the back of her neck when they’d hugged. The soft fabric of his shirt against her cheek. The scratch of his beard against her bottom lip. The taste of nicotine on his breath.

And his blood.

The blood from his neck staining her fingers when Güero shot him.

She’d come to after that, sitting up from the floor of El Santo’s sanctuary gasping, like all the oxygen in the room had been burned up. It had been terrifying and Güero had her in his embrace no more than a few seconds after. Her first words had been _where’s James?_

As soon as the words were out of Teresa’s mouth, she knew she’d surprised them both by saying that. She’d felt the tension from Güero as soon as she’d asked the question, the pressure of his hand on her back changing for the split second before James had answered that he was there and walked up to her.

Teresa exhaled the breath she’d held in when they made eye contact and she knew she’d stared at James for a second too long by Güero’s silent insistence to pull her into a hug again. But she’d had to do it, look into James’ eyes, and not just for proof of life.

For a lot of people, their tells were in their jaw or their body language. And James, he had a tendency to slide his thumb back and forth over his other fingers. But that wasn’t his tell, that was from too many years of being in situations that required him to hold a gun—first his service weapon walking through the desert in Afghanistan and then all the predicaments that being Camila’s #2 brought. Teresa had learned, months back, on the day they’d met, that James’ tell was in his eyes.

She’d seen it when they were rushing to the airport. He’d taken his sunglasses off and tried to get her to throw up the bags of coke she’d swallowed for the job, saying _I am not having that again_ , because Aveline wasn’t the first girl who died before delivery could be made. He’d said it like a threat or dare, as if _dying_ would be an act of defiance that he wouldn’t tolerate. James hadn’t cared about Teresa then, but she saw it in his eyes—he’d been scared. Scared for her. Scared that trying to get the job done would mean killing someone else. She got it then, that despite how tough and guarded and cold James could be, despite working for Camila, he hadn’t lost his humanity. He buried it, deep down, because he always had to make decisions that went against it.

But it was still there.

Teresa thought it was why he wore dark glasses all the time, and why he tended to gravitate to the poorly lit part of any room. It was why he had a different mindset than her, why he’d learned to live in the dark of a cave. Losing focus—letting in too much light—was a risk for a person like James. Situations where James wasn’t cool and in control were rare. But in the heat of a moment, if he let his guard down, his expressive eyes could give him away.

Teresa saw it again when she woke up from her hallucination, in his eyes, how scared he was for her. How worried he’d been. How pissed off he was. How living in the dark for so long had him convinced that the trip to El Santo’s compound was really it, that they wouldn’t make it out of Bolivia, at least not all of them.

But James was there, _alive_ , and he’d stared back at her, too. Teresa didn’t have time to convey anything to him though, because El Santo had started clapping, congratulating her on her good ‘death’ and warning that there was still a Judas among them.

It was difficult for Teresa not to think about what her hallucinations meant and what El Santo said, especially once they were on their way on El Camino de la Muerte for real. El Santo was, as James had said, insane. But El Santo hadn’t controlled what she’d dreamed about and events from hallucinations didn’t happen for no reason; they were fragments from the subconscious, lessons that a person could only teach themselves. It was why a version of Teresa, a confident queen dressed in all white, always presented herself in critical moments when Teresa needed to pull herself up by the bootstraps.

In her first poison-induced vision, after Güero died, she’d sat in the truck devastated on the way to the Chilean border to meet up with George. James had been beside her, so soft with her, waxing poetic about what soldiers in Afghanistan said about God and deeds instead of _I told you so_. When James told her to try and rest, she did, right into the next hallucination.

She’d yelled for Güero to turn around, because she’d just watched him die. But in the second version of the drive down the death road, they vacated the truck and got to the Bolivian soldiers first, holding them at gunpoint. None of the soldiers took a shot at Güero. Instead it was James who died, killed by Güero because _it was either him or me._ Murder out of jealousy.

And somehow it was that, the thought of James losing consciousness and succumbing to the underworld, the feel of his blood staining her fingers, that woke her up and brought her back to the land of the living.

So what did she learn? Why did the version of herself who was already a queen insist: _choose_? What did her subconscious mean to tell her about Güero and James?

If something happened to Güero, she would mourn him. There was no doubt about that, because she loved him.

Teresa had already mourned Güero once before. She certainly didn’t want to mourn him again, but she also wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Camila wouldn’t try to get rid of him—in a ditch in the ground or by other means—once El Santo’s product was in Texas.

The hallucination also told Teresa that although she loved Güero, she really wanted him to stop treating her like his bimbo girlfriend. He still thought of her as that money changer he’d saved and lavished in his mansion; dressed in cute outfits, spending all day shopping with Brenda, and unaware (excited, even) of the true meaning of working for the cartel. That wasn’t Teresa anymore and Güero needed to get on board with the changes she’d made in her life, changes she’d made in order to survive. She’d been doing all the saving lately anyway.

And then there was James.

In Teresa’s second hallucination, he’d sensed her nervous energy in the truck before they reached the soldiers’ checkpoint and very calmly told her _it’s alright, we got this_. When they’d ditched the truck, they had to face off against the soldiers immediately. Something told Teresa to follow James when he went after one of the soldiers and she’d run after him despite Güero yelling for her to let him go. She’d paused for a second, catching her breath and seeing things, and the next thing she knew James had gotten her to lower her weapon, telling her he took care of everything and that she was safe. Her heart had been pounding in her chest when they hugged and even more when he kissed her, because she’d kissed him back. It hadn’t only been comforting. It had felt right.

Teresa cared about James. That wasn’t new knowledge, because Teresa cared about a lot of people, even the ones who’d wronged her. So of course she cared about James. He’d looked out for her and they’d each done their fair share of putting themselves in danger for one another.

She was sure from the hallucination, too, that rightly or wrongly, she trusted James to a certain extent. When he’d told her she was safe, she’d believed him. Their working relationship was complicated and it became more and more so with each passing day. Camila was the boss, but there were things that stayed between James and Teresa. Like the maid. Like Tony. James followed orders and kept an eye on Teresa because of Camila’s say so but he’d also looked the other way, kept things hidden, for Teresa.

Back at Leo’s, she’d told Güero to back off, to give James space. And Güero had pouted at her with his sharp jawline and beautiful green eyes and said _I see the way he looks at you_. Teresa told Güero that James had saved her life and that was it. She hadn’t felt like she owed Güero any explanation for any of the times he hadn’t been around for, and she loved Güero, so she shut down any potential for further discussion. Because it wasn’t only that she cared about James and trusted him more than she wanted to. It was more than that; it was impossible not to forge some sort of bond with someone you were with each time your lives were in danger. With James, the line had been blurred and crossed on more than one occasion. Just because they never spoke about it and didn’t act upon it, that didn’t make it any less true.

Güero wasn’t wrong either. James _did_ look at Teresa a certain way. They’d worked together for the last few months, which meant they’d looked at each other a lot. A lot of communication without words being said—in front of clients, in hostile territory, even in front of Camila. James looked at Teresa with a warmth in his eyes, and it was _all_ the time. She saw it especially when he tried to sacrifice himself for her, with the militia group in the desert, and in the empty building in Galveston when they were surrounded by the DEA. The warmth was there even when James was angry or disappointed with the decisions Teresa made because she had to do things her way.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Güero looked at Teresa, smiled at her, spoke to her with his endearing puppy dog charm. But it was his natural expression; he approached everyone that way, to appeal to their emotions, to get out of them what he wanted. Güero made the best of the tools he had and used them to his advantage. Güero sold a lot of people with charm and charisma, even the DEA. He’d sold Teresa on a dream of running away, of a future on beaches abroad, of anonymity and just enough money because all they really needed was each other. Güero was charming and he loved her, so for a long time, she’d bought in.

There was none of that with James. He only looked at _her_ a certain way. He didn’t make empty promises and, in fact, had warned Teresa time and time again about the harsh reality of getting in deep with the cartel. _That’s your world now_ , he’d said without comfort or reprieve when they watched the Birdman suffocate a man to death. James wasn’t charming. He was abrasive and realistic. He was also deliberate. Protective. Loyal.

That had been made very clear to Teresa during their time in Bolivia. James tolerated Güero (barely) for the job, to secure business with El Santo, but mostly for her, because she loved Güero. And because Teresa knew how to read James, she knew how angry he’d been at the bar, when she could have died because of Leo but still begged James not to kill Güero and let him go. Güero didn’t help either. He kept goading James, kept trying to make things personal. When they were on El Camino de la Muerte, waiting for the locals to pick up the spilled fruit, Güero had brought up loyalty and asked if James would take out Teresa if Camila ordered it. The answer from James had been simple, his voice steady and without hesitation: _you have no idea what loyalty is_.

Güero had taken that as a ‘yes’. Teresa hadn’t had much time to process what James had said, because things had moved fast, and different than in her hallucinations. But she did know what James meant and what loyalty meant to him. James wasn’t the type to flaunt all his deeds for the hell of it; he’d shown no interest in the pissing contest Güero kept trying to push. Güero hadn’t been around for the moments that had made the line so blurry between James and Teresa, when they only had each other to rely on. Nor did Güero understand that neither of them had told him about those times in order to protect him, to keep him in his happy place where he could still believe he was the white knight who would one day whisk Teresa away on an airplane in dreamlike fashion.

When Güero and James emerged from the jungle to see Teresa with La Capitana’s blood all over her, no one said anything. With so much adrenaline coursing through her veins, Teresa was relieved to see that both men were still alive, and she tried to focus on that instead of the bludgeoning she’d done. She’d thought James and Güero would have tried to kill each other. The bullet in James’ shoulder had brought her pause and concern though. Rightly or wrongly, spending so much time around James had made Teresa more like James. She’d become realistic and protective and loyal, too. So kissing James in the hallucination, and feeling safe when he’d told her she was, it came from the same place as hoping they could get to George’s boat and get the bullet out of James’ shoulder before debris got into the open wound and caused an infection. It told Teresa that James had become an important figure in her life, and not just for survival. James meant something to her.

Once they were on the boat, James got his shoulder tended to and cleaned himself up by the time Teresa was done washing away La Capitana’s blood. In the shower, she kept seeing flashes of blood splattering up into her face and on her clothes, and the way she hadn’t stopped hitting La Capitana’s head until the woman stopped moving and breathing. Teresa stood under the spray of the water until it got so cold that it was painful.

James was leaned over the railing at the stern, beside one of the lifeboats. The moon was up and James was halfway through a cigarette, a mostly empty cup of coffee in his other hand. Teresa didn’t want to startle him and didn’t want to touch his hurt shoulder, so she made sure to enter his line of sight slowly, making it to the railing several feet away from him before sliding over until she was next to him.

“Hey.”

James looked up from the ripples of water reflected in the moonlight and over to her. “Hey.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“To be honest,” James exhaled smoke and flicked at the end of his cigarette, “I don’t really like boats. Drowning seems like a bad way to go.”

“This is what you do in your spare time?” Teresa said incredulously. “Think of a million ways to die?”

“What are _you_ doing out here?” James ignored the superficial line of questioning and asked a question of his own, “Where’s Güero?”

If James had meant it as a loaded question, or a snide one, Teresa ignored the sentiment. “He fell asleep.”

Being on a trawler, there were no suites or proper guest rooms. Teresa was lucky there was a shower at all. There were crew quarters, altogether and mostly occupied already. The only reason Teresa had her own room was because George had offered up the sick bay to her; two bunk beds only and an old wooden desk in the corner. Güero had been sitting on the bottom bunk in Teresa’s room when she went to shower. When she returned, he was sprawled out on the thin mattress, having fallen asleep with all his clothes and shoes still on. Teresa had been as quiet as possible moving around the tiny room and sneaking out. They’d all been through a lot in Bolivia over the past few days; anyone who managed to get to sleep deserved to do so. Teresa certainly hoped she’d be able to sleep when she laid her head down.

Teresa saw James’ jaw clench and then unclench but he nodded wordlessly so she spoke again, “How’s your shoulder?”

“I’ll survive,” he replied. “Who knew Bilal was so handy with a needle and thread.”

It was a fair statement. They didn’t know much about King George’s men, but he trusted them completely – considered them to be akin to his family, not just hired muscle.

James had a follow up: “Are _you_ going to be okay?”

“I will be,” Teresa nodded with a lump in her throat. “What choice do I have? What choice do any of us have?”

There was some irony to James standing on a vessel and thinking of ways to die at sea after the last few days they’d had. They’d nearly gotten themselves killed—multiple times—Teresa most of all. She hadn’t expected Leo to be so wishy washy, she hadn’t expected what El Santo would put her through to prove she was _pure of heart_ , and she certainly hadn’t expected to have to bash in La Capitana’s skull in order to survive. It would be an uphill battle to not wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares for weeks to come. Because it wasn’t only La Capitana who would haunt her, it was El Santo and Güero and James from her hallucinations, too.

“Come on,” James said after butting out his cigarette, dropping it into his coffee cup before striding away from the stern.

“Where are you going?”

“You’ll see,” James assured Teresa. “Come on.”

Teresa followed, but not without a sigh. In the past, no more than a month ago, when James had told Teresa to join him and go somewhere without explanation, it ended up with someone else dead.

“Wait…” Teresa called after him, noting that she could see the outline of his gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans through the back of his shirt.

By process of elimination, Teresa knew who was in danger of James’ ire on the ship. Who was the most likely candidate not to make it back to Dallas? Who was the rat? Who had James accused of being the Judas?

_Güero._

“James!” Teresa ran to catch up with him when she saw he was close to her room, the room Güero was sleeping in. “Wait!”

“Would you keep your voice down? We aren’t the only people awake on this ship.” James hissed and glanced up at the nautical bridge, where a few of King George’s men were pacing back and forth, machine guns strewn casually against their chests. Teresa and James were right in front of the door to her room when he stopped walking and turned back toward her. “ _What_?”

“James, please.” Teresa couldn’t help the tremor that made its way into her voice as she moved to the doorway, putting space between James and the entrance. “Don’t.”

James frowned at her, searching her face for an answer, for her to tell him what the fuss she was putting up was all about. When he realized what threshold she was standing under, he scoffed.

“Seriously?” James rolled his eyes. “You think if I was planning on killing your boyfriend here, tonight, I would call you over to witness it?”

James knew all too well that the way to hurt someone the most was by hurting the people they loved. It was common practice in the cartel world, and pretty much a declaration of war. James was smart and he knew it wasn’t smart to burn every bridge that way, especially when people who weren’t foes were involved. Teresa made working for Camila more difficult, but she wasn’t a foe, and they weren’t just business colleagues either. They could have entire conversations without words, just by looking at each other. Sometimes, it seemed, they preferred communicating that way, because admitting that they cared about each other and what that meant was a much more difficult conversation to have. James had found loopholes to get around Camila’s orders when it came to Teresa. This time would be no different. _We’re in this together_ , he’d told her before, and now apparently ‘together’ extended to Güero.

Teresa exhaled in relief. “I thought…”

“Yeah, _you thought_.” James shook his head. “We’re going to the kitchen, Teresa.”

Teresa followed James in silence the rest of the way.

The galley in the lower compartment of the ship was nothing like the dinette on George’s boat when they met him. George’s boat on the docks on the Texas coast had exuded personality and money; this ‘kitchen’ was just a small room with a metal table bolted to the floor, surrounded by folding chairs, and a toaster and microwave stacked on a mini refrigerator.

There were paper plates pre-loaded with food on the table, an assortment George and his crew had picked up before they left the port in Chile, mostly empanadas and churrasco. James picked up a plate and covered it with a paper towel before putting it in the microwave. He set the timer and crossed his arms over his chest, wincing briefly at the searing pain the motion sent up to his bad shoulder.

When their eyes met, over the hum of the microwave, Teresa apologized for the accusation she’d laid on James. “I’m sorry.”

Not long ago, when the air between them was already tense after the horse race, she’d told James that he was a good person and he’d ripped his sunglasses off and stopped the car, going on a diatribe about how their line of work wasn’t about good or bad, it was about life or death. Yet somehow he was always putting himself in jeopardy for her, always proving that he was a good person—always proving her right.

James didn’t look away from her. “Don’t be.”

Teresa and James had learned how to work with each other. Success in their world required survival instinct, and he’d told her she should learn to live in the dark. In all the caves they fell into, he was her guiding light. Yet she kept pulling him out of the caves, towards the light. They’d reached a balance and bringing Güero into the mix tipped the scale too far. Telling Teresa not to be sorry was reaffirmation that James couldn’t stand Güero, and her thinking that he might make an attempt on Güero’s life wasn’t entirely off base because James _did_ want to get rid of Güero. Since they’d managed to make the connection with El Santo (thanks to Teresa), the only remaining reason James hadn’t attempted to throw Güero overboard—hadn’t even planned it—was because he was important to Teresa, because she’d specifically asked for mercy on Güero’s behalf back at the bar in La Paz.

“Look, we made it. We got what we went to Bolivia for.” Teresa steered the conversation away from the topic of Güero. “That’s what matters, right?”

“We had a lot of close calls. Way too close for comfort.” James closed his eyes for a moment and ran a hand over his face. “I thought it was all over at El Santo’s. You were out cold for so long and we didn’t even know if you were going to wake up. I don’t get it. It was like one minute you were down and out and the next it was like you were forced awake. What brought you back?”

Teresa felt warmth rise to her cheeks. She knew James couldn’t watch a replay of her hallucination, so she didn’t have to tell him. But she felt almost guilty about it. She knew that James meant something to her in her subconscious, and she knew he’d made more space for her on his loyalty chart than he ever planned on. He went out of his way to help her, even when it meant compromising himself, and she thought the way he’d been in her hallucinations was further evidence of that.

So she told him. “I saw you.”

The look in James’ eyes was like when he’d seen her walk into the tent at the border where the militia group had held him, after she’d gone back for him.

“ _Me_?”

“Yes. I saw you,” Teresa repeated. She omitted the details of their kiss and the blood seeping from his neck in the hallucination. “Seems like you’re always daring me to stay alive…and I don’t like to lose.”

James processed Teresa’s words for a second, taking in the gravity of being part of what had brought her back. Teresa couldn’t help but smile when she saw the faintest hint of a brief smile from James. He smiled so rarely that she wasn’t even sure if she’d ever seen him truly, genuinely smile before.

The microwave chimed and James opened the door. He discarded the paper towel and the food was steaming. He put it right in front of Teresa, then added plastic cutlery on top of a napkin within the reach of her fingertips.

“If I’m hard on you, it’s because I want you to survive. And I’m glad we made it through the jungle—I know that came at a cost for you, doing what you had to do.” James hesitated. He swallowed and breathed out. “I don’t want to lose you.”

There was nothing hypothetical about what James said. It was a statement of fact and he’d had to break his usually aloof demeanor to do so, to bring up wants that had nothing to do with business. And though he hesitated, his eyes never did, the warmth never leaving them. James hadn’t mentioned anyone else—nothing to indicate the rest of their team—but he hadn’t misspoken. He’d only spoken for himself and Teresa knew what he meant, and then Teresa knew what she meant to him. It was the same way she felt about him.

Teresa knew she loved Güero. She’d begun to understand that she loved James, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Story Notes](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/633587179158913024/steady-extended-story-notes) are on tumblr, where I’m [@jerepars](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. <3


End file.
